


oh the way your makeup stains

by Trojie



Series: in the wake [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, POV Patrick Stump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: Patrick is pretty sure Pete should be doing his laundry.
Relationships: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Series: in the wake [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647838
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	oh the way your makeup stains

_2005_

The next verse looms large in Patrick's mind, approaching at light speed, and his fingers know what to do, but the next line, the words, are gone. His heart is beating like a rabbit's - a rabbit on meth, maybe - and he knows the chord progression! He does! He wrote it and he remembers writing it - it sprung up in his brain when Pete passed him a napkin with the first couple of lines scrawled on it, but the writing blurs in his memory and he can't. 

Remember. 

The words. 

He almost falls over the mic stand when Pete collides with him, and he elbows frantically but Pete's mouth is on his ear. 

_on the drive home -_ Pete hisses, and Patrick grabs it like he's been thrown a rope. The high notes end up in his nose, he's lost all semblance of breath control, but fuck it.

'- breaking hearts, never looked! So! Cool -'

Pete stays where he is. Patrick's ear is full of spit because Pete's a mouth-breather. Patrick doesn't push him away til the song ends.

***

Patrick started this tour with a white pillowcase, because he's still in the phase of his life where bedlinen is a thing he gets from his mom's house. He would never buy a white pillowcase. He lives in a van. He knows what happens to anything white that goes into that van. But that's the one his mom handed to him, and he took it, even knowing it was never going to be clean again. He just took it, and said thank you.

He stares at the ghost of someone else's demurely-closed eyes, and mutters a word his mom would glare at him for using. 

***

Patrick gets offstage drenched in sweat, like literally pouring it, and ducks his head low enough that all he can see is his own fucking feet to bull his way from stage to bus. The tarmac is glass-strewn and the grass is dead, and his hat stinks because how do you wash a fucking hat? Patrick doesn't know. As soon as he gets inside the bus he yanks it off and abandons it and is horizontal on his bunk inside of thirty seconds. 

The small of his back goes from slick and hot to to clammy and cold by degrees and he doesn't even care. 

He's basically asleep by the time Pete's arm is sprawled across said small of his back. 

'Fuck off, Pete,' he growls into his pillow. Pete just shoves him across what little space there is so that he can also mash his face in Patrick's pillow. 

***

Patrick's pretty sure both Pete and the bass player from My Chemical Romance, who he's started hanging around with a lot, have girlfriends right now. Or. Female company, at least. Of the semi-regular type. He _thinks_. It's hard to tell on tour, and he's less sure about … is it Mike? Michael? Than about Pete, but still. There are commitments, okay. Reasons not to bunk-jump. 

Okay, so, Pete shares bunks with Patrick too and nothing goes on, but … 

But Patrick was born with a nasty suspicious nature, fine. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure Pete definitely has a girlfriend right now. Patrick can't remember her name, but Pete definitely has a girlfriend. And he's definitely spent the last three nights that weren't on the road in My Chem's bus. Not in his own bunk and not in Patrick's.

It's none of Patrick's business. It just makes him a little crazy, that's all.

***

'I need a fucking drink,' Patrick says, changing direction immediately and not even bothering to hit the door on the bus, and Joe scratches his head bewilderedly but doesn't argue.

He doesn't see Pete's pretty, thrown-back profile in the window, outlined in the low light. Doesn't see that he's wearing someone else's glasses, rectangular frames, part white, part black, entirely distinctive, crooked on his face.

Patrick's not ready to walk in on whatever's feathering Pete's eyelashes low, whatever Mikey's doing that means his glasses need keeping safe on someone else's face.

***

'You're fucking washing my fucking sheets.'

'What did your last maid die of, Lunchbox?'

'My pillow is covered in your eyeliner. Clean up your damn mess,' Patrick retorts, as if Pete has ever cleaned up his own messes in his entire life. 

'That's not my eyeliner,' says Pete airily. 'It's Mikey's.'

Patrick's blood runs ice-cold. 'Why the _fuck_ was Mikey in my bunk?'

'He wasn't?"

'Then how -'

'I used up my eyeliner pencil, he lent me his,' says Pete, and Patrick smacks him as hard as he can muster with the pillow in question. 

'You're doing my laundry.'

He stalks away, leaving Pete behind yelling, 'Fuck you, I'm not doing anyone's laundry!'

***

Patrick's pillowcase looks like the Shroud of Turin.

Pete makes three blog posts with one comma and no names or capital letters between them, about a pretty boy he's too close to, that he shares beds with.

Patrick isn't pretty, so it isn't him.

***

_2006_

'"Eyeliner" is too many syllables, Pete, it doesn't scan.'

'So sing them faster.'

'Do you … know anything about rhythm? At all?'

'Fuck you, it's important.'

'Fuck _you_ , I don't care.'


End file.
